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Man Into Fish: By Barry Hutchings
The passive observer should witness and not judge. Judgement is not his role. So I must confess that I failed in my duty.
The prisoner was a young woman, and I could tell, by how she was dressed and how she wore her hair, that she was a tough girl, an uneducated a girl, a girl from the gutter, a thief, a liar, a tart, a chav, a girl who bleached her hair, a girl who swore and got drunk and threw beer and vomited. She was indeed distasteful, but I remained passive and non-committal. She was escorted by two female warders. Big ladies, tough, matronly who took no nonsense. And she was followed by her boyfriend, a tough looking fellow who swaggered with arrogance.
He was cast from her mould. Or a similar mould, and came from a council estate, stole things, burnt things, beat people up, swore and got drunk. He was a chav, an oik, a minor criminal, a dealer of drugs. I did not like him. I was biassed. I remained passive, unseen and observed.
They inspected her cell. And I realised that I had missed something. The young man was noble. He did not have to be there. By dint of his gender, class, culture he should have scarpered. Scarpered when she was arrested, and taken-up with her sister! It is what was expected of him. But he remained loyal and was supported her. I was confused.
They continued to inspect her cell. Both tough, both defiant. And then he sneered. The young man actually sneered. And although it was only a can of prison hairspray he was sneering at his meaning was clear. You can't scare us! We are tougher than you. We don't read your newspapers, worry about your concerns. We live by our own rules. We won't stop drinking, or puking, or fucking or fighting... They could not be broken. And I was scared. Because I did not have their courage. But I remained passive, unseen and observed.
For a while nothing happened. The authorities did not smite him. His sneer remained. He was contemptuous. Law and order was lost. He had beaten them with a contemptuous sneer. I wondered if he had won. But a warder rebuked him. The big female prison warder with big shoulders, big hips, big bust rebuked his arrogance. He sneered again, and although his sneer was a contemptuous as his first, it seemed he had sneered unwisely. For the warder had taken out a canister, and sprayed the chav, the oik, full in the face. He was immobilised, and a blue gel coagulated and cemented him, and I wondered, as he struggled, if he realised, that sneering is as dangerous a thing that a chav, or an oik could ever do.
He was lifted, manhandled, bundled, and I waited for the kicking and the screaming, for it is well known that a good beating can instil respect for the law. But he was not. They bound and gagged him and dragged him, away from his sweetheart, and into a room which contained an iron chamber. A hatch was opened and he was stuffed inside. The hatch was closed and sealed. It fit him as snug as any coffin, and I knew then that conspiracy was at work and I wondered what powers might be involved now.
A warder stood behind a glass screen, pulled levers and manipulated controls. The man began to gurgle. His living body began to break down. To melt, to drip, to turn into gruel. He became soup. A sickening gruel of amino acids, and proteins, and clothing fibres, and tattoo ink, and shoe leather, and DNA, and RNA, and calcium, and water, and minerals and...
And he did not die. He lived to bare witness to his demise, knowing what was happening to him and that it could not be reversed.
And his suffering continued and I observed passively.
It took months. He bubbled in his cauldron, day after day, week after week. The harridans stirred his cauldron knowing that he was still alive and joked wickedly at his demise. I noticed that his sweetheart had become one of the stirrers.
"Look! it's making love to itself!" she cried, and the harridans screamed with laughter as they transmuted his body. It made me wonder how treacherous is it to have one's lover take part in the 'soupification' of ones own body. How treacherous is it to hear a loved and trusted partner make jibes at your biological components. And the answer is - as I came to realise - very treacherous. Very treacherous indeed!
The time came when the chamber was be opened. The process was complete. And I must admit, I was curious as to what it was they had done to him. I suppose I stood with bated breath, as the wheels were turned and the hatch unsealed. I poked my head in to get a closer look. I saw what had been done to him. He had been turned into a fish, a flounder, a bottom feeder. If he attempted to swim to the surface he would explode. They had planned his punishment well. He would never be able to see the the sky or the sun or the moon. Or maybe they were scared he would if could surface he could seek revenge. It was evil that had been done to him. Hell that had become him.
It was at this moment that I realised I could no longer remain a passive observer. I spoke to him.
"I suppose you're pretty pissed off about all this?" I said.
The fish sighed from within his pressurised tank. I knew that he was.
"And all this for the United States Navy and their top secret projects!"
The fish remained motionless but I knew he agreed.
"Still," I continued "I bet you have a full understanding of yoga and Zen Buddhism now!"
"You can say that again!" said the fish, through a mixture of bubbles and injustice.
I sighed and left the fish to his watery Hell.
Part 2: The Press Conference
In the ante room, where it had all started, the women were holding a press conference and were being congratulated on their achievement. I saw the members of the press, and although not all of them were women, I knew them to be journalists of the feminist type.
I know there have been injustices, I thought, but this is going to far! I became indignant.
"What gives you the right?" I shouted.
They looked around and I could see that they were embarrassed.
"What gives you the right..." I shouted again.
The tall, hawk-like woman who had organised the grisly episode stepped out.
"We have the right!" she said, "to turn a man into a fish. To reconvene him to..."
"You have no right!" I screamed, and I leapt at her and seized her wrists.
She laughed, and I felt paralysis grip my hands. I had done the thing that was wanted of me and I could feel myself falling into a trap. I yanked my hands, and freed myself and knew that a second longer I would have been in the tank with my protein bubbling.
She appeared surprised, but so does everyone when they are forced to confront the weight-lifter's strength. I stormed out of the room, and on passing the iron chamber told the fish that we would fight this thing. Then I realised, that even with all the armour that the American Navy had given him, he would never have it in him to turn against them. I sneered, and turned to leave, not wishing to know any more. But my way was blocked. Standing in front of me were three women. A beefy warder, the female prisoner, and, to my horror, Saphony Saphonix the girl I once loved. I felt the edges of conspiracy close in on me and argued only for a couple of seconds.
The beefy warder spoke. "A fine fish you will make my boy!"
I froze for a second, then raised my hands, and curving them in the manor that judo teaches, inserted them into the lapels of the warder's uniform. And thinking that I had practised this move a thousand times, scissored my hands in a perfect strangle, and although I don't think she could quite believe it, watched her face as I extinguished her life.